


Tea, Biscuits, and Latin

by thomasthemiller



Category: Dead Poets Society (1989)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mentors, Mr. McAllister deserves more appreciation, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:55:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24429091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thomasthemiller/pseuds/thomasthemiller
Summary: In the wake of Neil's death, Charlie's expulsion, and the firing of Mr. Keating, Todd finds himself struggling in school. He finds an unlikely ally in Mr. McAllister.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 27





	Tea, Biscuits, and Latin

**Author's Note:**

> I recently found myself watching the deleted scene where Mr. McAllister comforts Mr. Keating after Neil's suicide, and it made me remember how much I like McAllister's character. I wanted to explore it a bit more, and this was the result.

_Damnit_ , Todd thought, as he gazed sullenly down at the Latin homework that Mr. McAllister had just returned to his desk. _I expected to struggle in Trig and Chemistry this semester, but I thought maybe I could at least scrape by in Latin…_

Red ink markings covered the length of the page, and as Todd stared down, the ink glistened, taunting him. He could hear Mr. McAllister droning on about questions that the majority of the class had missed, and how every student should read their feedback carefully, but Todd had all but drowned it out.

His spring semester at Wellton was off to a miserable start. This was to be expected, he knew. The compounded emotional toll from Neil’s death, Charlie’s expulsion and Mr. Keating’s sacking was too much for him to handle; he was barely sleeping, and if he didn’t want to teeter perilously between emotions of rage and despondency, his only option was a sort-of forced emotional numbness. These days, this was his default state, and he tried fervently to maintain it, because, as he was reminded incessantly by both his parents and Mr. Nolan, any more acts of defiance would lead to his immediate expulsion. 

_Of course_ , he thought bitterly, _if I keep failing homework assignments it won’t matter if I do get expelled_.

Todd chewed nervously on the inside of his lip and continued staring down at the work that had been returned to him. The grade was a D, and not an F, so he knew that things could be worse. Even so, a D was still not considered a passing mark at Wellton. He sighed heavily. Latin was normally one of his better subjects. He’d managed to get an A last semester, with some help from Meeks, of course, but that was different. Last semester he’d been happier than any other time in his life. Now, the tables had turned; Todd was no longer basking in new friendships, newfound confidence, and the giddy feeling that had come from his secret romance with Neil. Instead, he just felt empty. He had to be vigilant about keeping his anger in check, particularly in English class with Mr. Nolan, and in the dorm room he now shared with Cameron. On top of that, he constantly felt like he was in a fog. What had come easily to him before suddenly seemed ten times more difficult, and that, apparently, included Latin.

His eyes grazed the page. His attempt to conjugate the verb _dormito_ in the subjunctive had been an abject disaster. Clearly, he had been too exhausted to properly deal with the Latin word for ‘to feel sleepy.’ A wry expression crossed his face. The grim humor of it was not lost on him. He continued skimming Mr. McAllister’s corrections until he reached the bottom of the page. There, in fine print squiggles, was the last thing he wanted to see. Scrawled on the bottom margin of the page were those dreaded words, ‘please see me after class.’

Todd’s hand trembled slightly. He could feel knots forming in his stomach, and all he could think was _shit_. He did not want to be chastised for his poor performance. He had already dealt with some strong words of warning from Dr. Hager on Monday after he’d only completed half of the weekend’s trig homework. Still, he knew he had no choice but to stay after the bell. Demerits were the last thing he needed, and Latin was his final class on Thursday. He groaned inwardly, resigned to his fate. He’d simply have to sit there, take whatever criticism was thrown at him, and nod. It had become enough of a ritual that Todd knew the drill.

About a minute later, the bell finally rang, jarring Todd from his thoughts. All of the other boys dashed out of class, eager to be done for the day, and Meeks briefly stopped by Todd’s desk to remind him to show up to study group later.

“Yeah, I will,” Todd told him, knowing full well that even though he’d be there physically, he didn’t have the mental capacity to focus on the chemistry homework that was due in the morning.

Soon, all the boys were gone, and Todd was left sitting alone at his desk, gazing back down at the red pen markings covering his Latin homework. He saw Mr. McAllister approaching his desk and sighed.

McAllister strode over purposefully, and said, “Mr. Anderson, thank you for staying.”

When Mr. McAllister addressed him, Todd looked nervously upward, nodded, and mentally prepared himself for the telling-off that he was bound to receive. While he knew that McAllister had a kinder disposition than many of Wellton’s other teachers, he didn’t expect much sympathy in this situation, especially when his grades from the previous semester had been so good. His mouth felt dry, and his palms sweaty as he stared at his teacher, expecting to be gently berated. The words that did come, though, were a bit of a surprise.

“You look unwell, Anderson,” Mr. McAllister said gently. “You’ve been looking unwell. You need a cup of tea. Step into my office and I’ll put the kettle on.”

This was not what Todd was expecting to hear at all; he was confounded by McAllister’s words, and he couldn’t help but protest.

“B-but sir, I—” he mumbled.

He was quickly cut off. “Mr. Anderson, we Scots do not take no for an answer when it comes to tea.”

_This is odd_ , Todd thought, finding himself once again gnawing on the inside of his lip. _I thought this would just be thirty-seconds of hell, and then I’d be free to go_. Knowing, though, that he could not afford an argument with another teacher, he got up and followed Mr. McAllister.

While McAllister put the kettle on, the first thing Todd noticed about the office was that it was filled with books. Todd scanned the shelves, curiosity getting the better of him. Names like Petrarch, Ovid, Virgil, Dante, Aquinas, and Aristotle dotted the book spines. Todd had heard of most of these, even if he’d never read any of their works.

His eyes continued to wander as he heard the kettle whistle, and the sound of McAllister pouring water into the teacups. His gaze was fixated on the desk, now, and a photograph had caught his attention. In it, a group made up of approximately ten smiling young men stood outside of a pub. Todd swore that one of them was Mr. Keating.

Todd took a step closer in order to get a better look at the photo, but as soon as he did, he realized that McAllister was putting the two cups of tea and a tin of biscuits on a small table a few feet away. He hoped very much that his teacher had not seen him nosing about. Assuming it was the polite thing to do, he walked over to the table and sat down.

Mr. McAllister sat across from him, and gestured to the tin of biscuits. “They’re shortbread,” he said. “You should have one.”

Todd, who already had tea forced upon him, figured that arguing wouldn’t be wise, and he gingerly picked up a biscuit from the tin and took a bite of it.

As he chewed, he heard McAllister say, “I take it you were looking at my photos.”

Todd, taken aback, nodded. He took another biscuit, before mustering up the courage to speak.

“Yes, sir,” he said. “I was wondering- D-did you know Mr. Keating before he came to Wellton?”

Mr. McAllister turned to look at the photograph on his desk, and smiled a little before saying, “Ah, yes.” He turned back to face Todd. “Mr. Keating and I met for a brief time at Oxford. That is a photo of the Dante reading group we were both part of. You see, I was studying Virgil, and Mr. Keating was doing some work on Christina Rossetti while he was there on the Rhodes scholarship. So it was only natural that we’d both want to read the _Commedia_.”

There was an awkward silence after that, and Todd took a sip of his tea. He could hear McAllister’s office clock ticking in the background. He wasn’t sure if he should finally bring up his bad grade or if he should ask why it was ‘only natural’ that Mr. Keating and Mr. McAllister met in a Dante reading group at Oxford. Fortunately, he was saved from having to speak. 

“You know,” Mr. McAllister said, taking another sip of his tea, “poetry was the reason I got into classics. I first read Virgil’s _Aeneid_ when I was about your age- in Latin, of course. I still come back to it often. It’s generally thought to be a work which warns of forsaking duty for passion, but the subversive reader would know that it also accurately captures the suffering that comes with orienting one’s life solely around a higher power or cause.”

Todd chewed the inside of his jaw. McAllister’s summary of the _Aeneid_ hit too close to home. He had never read Virgil, but he was all to familiar with the concept of suffering for the sake of duty. That was what Neil had done, until he finally snapped.

_That’s what I’m doing, too_ , Todd thought, as he stared grimly at his teacup. _But I just need to make it through the end of the year_.

At that moment, as if he knew what Todd was thinking, Mr. McAllister swilled his tea with a spoon and said, “I know you aren’t lazy, Anderson. I realize what you’re trying to force yourself to work through. But you’ve got to go to college—not for your parents, or the image of this school, but for yourself.”

Todd was taken aback by Mr. McAllister’s bluntness. “S-sir,” he stammered.

McAllister looked at him intently. Todd desperately tried to clear his mind enough to form a complete sentence. Finally, he took a deep breath and the words came out.

“O-of course I want to go to college,” he said. “I’ve applied to Brown, Wesleyan, UVA, UNC, and Yale. I’m not my brother, so there’s no way I’m getting into Yale, or Brown, for that matter- and I don’t want to become a lawyer, even if that’s what my parents expect- but obviously I don’t want schools to reject me because I suddenly flunk my final semester.” He then finished the last of his tea, and said softly, “b-but I can’t focus.” 

It was the most Todd had ever spoken in front of a teacher who wasn’t Mr. Keating, and he’d shocked himself. He stared down at his empty teacup, and as he did, he noticed that Mr. McAllister had gotten up and was walking towards one of the bookshelves. Todd grabbed another biscuit as he watched McAllister take a book from the shelf and walk back towards the table. Then, much to Todd’s surprise, the book was placed in front of him. It was a Latin copy of Virgil’s _Aeneid_.

“You’re not failing my class, Mr. Anderson,” Mr. McAllister said brusquely.

Todd looked up at Mr. McAllister, who had not yet sat back down, and finally bore a bit of the strict expression that Todd had initially expected.

McAllister continued. “I want you to read book one, and we’ll meet to talk about it at the same time next week.”

Todd nodded and picked up the book. He certainly wasn’t keen on the extra work, but he was simultaneously grateful that at least one of his teachers wanted to help. Taking McAllister’s comment as a cue for him to leave, he got up and walked towards the door.

Just before Todd could leave, McAllister quickly added, “and Mr. Anderson, don’t tell anyone I gave you that book. Administration prefers that I keep literature out of this class, so if anyone got wind of my bending the rules…” He trailed off and gave Todd a wry smile. Todd returned the look.

“Don’t worry, sir,” he said, holding the book up in front of him, “I won’t.”

At that, Todd left Mr. McAllister’s office, and as he walked back to the dorm room he shared with Cameron, he looked quizzically down at the book in his hand. _Well_ , he thought, _I don’t know how Latin poetry’s supposed to help me, but I suppose it’s worth a try_.

When he returned to his room, he placed the book down on his desk next to his copy of _Five Centuries of Verse_. He stared at it for a moment more, before hearing the sound of Cameron’s voice.

“So, how’d you do on the Latin homework?”

Todd grimaced. Cameron was always asking about his grades, but he usually ignored the pestering and took it as his cue to leave for study group. But something within him was not so annoyed this time. He glanced over at his desk, and then up at Cameron.

“Oh,” he said dismissively, “I just need a bit of improvement.”

Cameron gaped at Todd, dumbfounded by the unexpected response, but Todd was no longer paying him any mind. Instead, he grabbed his chemistry textbook, walked out the door, and genuinely smiled for the first time in two months.

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all, I'm just pretending that Todd never reads Book 4 of the Aeneid, because that's actually too painful to think about. I don't know what McAllister was thinking, even if I was the one who made him give Todd the book.


End file.
